The Empty Mirror
Chapter 40: Esme
Esme, a young adult from Bafranbu, was forced to leave the city with her beloved Dougal as her saviour and her mother Hilda, after the tragic murder of her father at the hands of mafia crime. Stalked by the imminent collection of the unpaid debt, which could lead them to the brink of death if they remained in the city, they decided to make their escape. Esme, a creature of celestial beauty and gentle heart, struggles to survive in a world whose designs are fraught with misfortune. Though her soul leans towards Dougal with unbounded love, she is in turmoil, unable to face the turmoil of her own feelings with integrity.
It was at that moment, under Dougal's ruthless threat to me, that I was compelled to elucidate his understanding.
Goddamn it, don't they all think of me as a child, then I don't understand why that son of a bitch is burning with jealousy at my presence, as if I intend to fuck his whore fiancée. Nevertheless, my hands are tied. It would be foolhardy to fan the flames of a tragic destiny that I am not willing to endure. I contemplated staying in this place, courting the illusion of finding joy, but I found it to be nothing but an orchard of unhappiness. As soon as I have recovered my spirits, I shall set out to depart from this sordid habitation. My course will be set for the castle, where I long to be sodomised by a nymphomaniac.
At first, I was under the illusion that these individuals might be able to lavish a shadow of grace on me, but as I share their lives together, I realise that it is not I who am acting like a poor parasite, but that it is they who are living on the memory of an old dead man. For this reason, I am compelled to seek out Esme for questioning and to pay my gratitude to Hilda once the outcome of this plot is revealed.
However, between these two fools, I found nothing but disillusionment. Soon, they will understand why they share the same misfortune as the imbecile Dougal.
Feeling the urgent need to find some improvised crutch to support my gait, without daring to ask for help, I dragged myself painfully, like a vile parasite, from the shelter of the hut to the confines of the forest, longing to go unnoticed. My eyes scanning the surroundings, I discovered several stout branches fallen on the ground.
I approached one of the fallen branches and examined it closely to find one long and sturdy enough to support the weight of my body. After judiciously selecting the right branch, I looked around for a thinner one that might serve as a hilt.
With a neat steel knife, I began to sculpt the thick branch, skilfully shaping it into a solid support. Carefully removing every knot and protrusion, I took care to give it a smooth and comfortable surface. Then, using strips of tree bark as natural cordage, I attached the handle to the main branch, ensuring its firmness and stability.
Once the task of forging the makeshift crutch was complete, I proceeded to put it through an endurance test, making sure it was strong enough to support my weight. With a sigh of relief, I lean back on it, feeling how it provides me with the sustenance I need to traverse the wooded paths. I silently thank nature for her benevolence in providing the necessary resources, and continue my wanderings with renewed confidence, ready to face the challenges that fate will bring.
With a subtle off-balance, I waited a moment before I caught sight of Esme, who was resting near a clump of leafy trees that provided shade. As I approached, I swayed with my crutch, catching her attention with the echo of my uncertain footsteps, like those of a ghost in the gloom.
"Giselle, are you all right?" - Esme inquired uneasily, standing upright. "Yes, everything is in order. I do not require assistance, I simply improvised this crutch to get around. I don't wish to be bedridden” - I replied gruffly as I sat up again.
"I understand. I am comforted to know that you have the strength to want to walk despite the ankle injury” - he said in a gentle tone.
"Of course... We need to address an issue, Esme, regarding what happened the other night" - I started a conversation.
"Our little girl... well, I mean..." - she whispered wistfully.
"There's no harm in calling me that, did you think it up?" - I inquired, seeking to untie the knot on her tongue.
"Yes, I think even Dougal calls you that now, does my mother do it too?" - He questioned quietly.
"Occasionally, though not as often as Dougal. I feel he calls me that more often than even you do" - I replied as I approached his side.
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"I know the matter that afflicts us, Giselle. It was certainly a slip in a drunken night. I must confess that my spirits faltered when I tasted that liquor. It was as if a shadow of my father's regret rested upon me, I then understood the reason for his libations, an attempt to chase away the demons of memory. I found myself on that very path" - he began to unveil his thoughts languidly.
"Yes, I understand your grief. But do you still have love for Dougal?" - I inquired with palpable optimism.
"Of course I do. I love him with all my soul. Our bond was forged years ago, in more youthful times, perhaps at an age comparable to yours. I remember clearly the moment our paths crossed, in the halls of a women's congregation, where I acquired skills such as the art of sewing, a skill I am passionate about. These lessons, though intended to prepare young ladies for marriage, were not reserved exclusively for the aristocracy, but welcomed young girls from the middle class. It was my father who insisted on my attendance, and I accepted without hesitation.
I should note that I already had some understanding of these matters from my mother's teachings. However, this particular enclave was run by the nuns, as part of a charitable system sponsored by the Church of the Plague. In those days, our presence in the church was also required as part of the programme. It was a gesture of help in its measure; some clergy do it, not only the Plague Church, although it is not directly linked to its doctrine. Rather, it is a tribute and a formative occasion to instruct young ladies. That is the most appropriate description I can think of.
It was precisely in this environment, during conversations in the sacral precincts, that I had the privilege of crossing paths with Dougal. He played the role of acolyte, in charge of lighting candles, adorning the altar, assisting the clergy during ceremonies, and performing maintenance and cleaning duties in the church precincts. In addition, he was actively involved in the distribution of food and clothing to the needy in the church's works of mercy. Although he received shelter and food from the church, he also worked as an apprentice in the workshop of a carpenter. This work barely provided him with enough to live on, and not every day for sure.
During that period, there was barely a hint of the tragedy that beset my father. As the days passed in the salon, I could distinguish him from a distance until, with a determined step, he approached me and began a dialogue. At first, I found his insistence on dealing exclusively with ecclesiastical topics and faith in the Plague somewhat overwhelming. Gradually, however, our discussions moved into more personal and varied terrain. A friendship arose between us, then a courtship, although it was limited to the moments when we pretended to study the sacred pestilential scriptures.
Even after the formative stage in the young ladies' salon, our meetings continued, as both he and I were immersed in the nascent love bond. I must admit, however, that Dougal was uncomfortable with my lukewarm adherence to the Plague faith. Unlike him and my mother, my fervour does not reach the same heights. I deeply regret this discrepancy, but it is an undeniable reality. Even if one were to compare Dougal's devotion to the church of the Plague with my mother's, he would come out on top.
Thus was our destiny forged. Months and years passed as we met, no longer in the sacred precincts, at the express request of Dougal, who considered it an act of sacrilege. We now congregated in agreed places and, almost exclusively, communicated through epistles exchanged in a secret enclave when we attended church. We deposited them between the cracked wooden slits of a confessional and picked them up when we returned. Although this was slow, it was the only way we could keep our relationship in the shadows and avoid the slander of others.
It was only much later that I dared to present him to my parents. I feared their rejection, but in time, they accepted him, especially after my mother persuaded my father of Dougal's nobility, and in that, she was right. I am firmly convinced that my father would, at this moment, assent to his worthiness. What really persuaded them, however, was Dougal's deep faith in the church, a devotion that was impossible not to admire, especially in a town as pious as Bafranbu. I mean, I'm objective in this matter”.
"So what are you really undecided about?" - I questioned as I listened to her account.
"Crazy am I, an idiot, I confess, I recognise your youth before my person, though our ages are tangled like threads in a rich tapestry, yet it does not blur my perspective. In my eyes, you are a child, a creature who has barely caressed the wings of time. Almost five years or more separate us, and my interest, I admit, sprang in the ephemeral intoxication of the night, but I do not feel for you what I feel for him. It is not love, but mere curiosity.
I longed to experiment with you, to know the feeling of being with a woman, I was horny, just fuck me. It's not that I love you in a genuine way; I was simply attracted to the idea of exploring the unknown, challenging the conventions and boundaries that the church imposes on me." - Esma tilted her gaze, turning romantic. For the first time, I did not discover tenderness in her countenance; instead, I sensed the maturity of a woman who, after confession, was facing her own truth. The forest, now forgotten, had become the silent witness of her longing and her procrastination.
"That's the point... I realise it's not viable in any sense” - I said in a monotone voice. At first, I had empathised with her account of her affair with Dougal, but as I delved deeper into her bewilderment, I realised my mistake about her. Her interest seemed to be motivated more by curiosity, as if my person was of no importance to her. I felt dismissed, insignificant, which made me uncomfortably uncomfortable in Esme's presence.
In the end, it turned out that the crux of Ace of Wands' weirdness was evidence of a similar confusion to her own: a woman inquiring into her sexuality. For her, however, it was mere lasciviousness, while for me it was the true exploration of the individual on her way to maturity. Although we shared similarities, our perceptions differed. I could only nod in agreement with her words as she called herself idiot and crazy.
"Of course, I understand that it is an unfeasible task. I only wished to try. That is why I asked you to stay, traveller. However, realising that it is not a feasible assignment, I think it best that you withdrew” - she muttered crestfallen.
"I will do so. I will leave. But what about your mother? You are unsettling her with your behaviour" - I replied in an impassive tone.
"Just the mere thought that my mother might find out filled me with shame. I imagined her fury at discovering how my desires had disrupted my relationship with Dougal and myself. However, once the traveller was on her way, I would face them again and move on with the memory. That would be all that would happen, which never happened.
I was confused as to whether or not I would propose to you again, that's all. Now I know you won't agree to have sex with me, so I can take back the mask after all. You go on with your life after this. I just longed to experience something more than a carnal connection, for you to be my lover and for us to fuck frequently. I feel as if the forest has changed my being," - he said in a halting voice, ending the conversation.
"I understand" - I muttered as I stood up and walked towards the hut, leaning on my crutch. Esme's last sentence disconcerted me, making me realise her despicable nature, Esme was an asshole.
After a few days, I saw her absorbed in her sewing in a corner of the hut. I approached her and she said, "I'm not a reader, I'm not literate like you, so take this Plague bible. Perhaps you will get more out of it. Also, I give you the map that I once denied you and persuaded you not to go on your way". As she handed me the book and the map that rested on her belly, she went on with the work of fashioning a grim garb, using witch's nails as needles to bind together the scraps of a gangrenous body.